Special forces psychic Sergey Zverev

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Title: Spetsnaz Psychic

About the book "Psychic from the Special Forces" Sergey Zverev

After graduating from the school of military psychics, Sergeant Sergei Odintsov was enrolled in a special detachment of the GRU special forces operating in Syria. The fighters must capture and take to Russia the chief financial official of the radical Islamists. The first attempt was unsuccessful: in the headquarters of the militants, the disguised Odintsov was recognized by an American colonel who had once fought against the Russian special forces. Sergei and his comrades had to hide temporarily. Realizing that it will not be possible to take the enemy by surprise, the scouts decide to resort to an unusual and ingenious plan ...

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© Asfarov O., 2017

© Design. Eksmo Publishing LLC, 2017

* * *

Special forces psychic

Prologue

Sergei entered the office of the detachment commander and threw his palm to his temple:

- Comrade lieutenant colonel, sergeant Odintsov, according to you ...

“At ease,” the commander waved his hand. He got up.

“Here,” the lieutenant colonel coughed, “meet me.” Victor Pavlovich, so to speak ...

Sergei only now noticed a man sitting on a chair with his back to the window. He narrowed his eyes.

A completely bald guy in his forties, with a large head, a thick build, in a dark discreet suit without a tie, he looked somewhat unusual in the territory of the unit, where everyone wears military uniform.

- You know well English language? - the stranger asked Sergey in a low voice. Sergei looked at the lieutenant colonel.

The bald man chuckled, carefully examining the sergeant. Sergei shrugged.

- I understand.

He left, closing the door behind him a little more abruptly than he should have.

“Your commander is a little nervous,” the man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. - This is clear. Nobody wants to give away a good fighter.

He spoke clearly and quietly, and Sergei involuntarily listened to his every word.

“Sit down, sergeant,” the strange visitor nodded, “do you want some candy?”

- No thanks.

- And I'll chew. Instead of cigarettes.

Sergei decided not to be surprised at anything. It is clear that this man is an important bird, since the commander went out and left them alone. Moreover, he advised me to answer the questions as honestly as possible. And who is he then? Special department? For what?

Sergei pushed his chair away from the long table and sat down, looking ahead of him. Where could he “fly in” so that the special officer became interested in him? Recent shootings? Sergei swore to himself. Here's a fool ... well, he hid a pack of cartridges. Yes, guilty. But he didn’t take it anywhere, didn’t sell it or donate it, but honestly shot it. His machine gun began to “leave” a little, and Sergey, being a good shooter, immediately felt it. At the shooting, I had to go to the foreman.

- Listen, Georgich, I started to smear something, I should have a look at the "barrel".

Georgich sat on a bench under a canopy at a table, putting his feet on a box of cartridges. On the table lay a record of accounting and consumption of ammunition, for reliability, pressed down by an empty machine gun magazine, a ballpoint pen and cigarettes.

- Started to smear, you say? The gunsmith chuckled. He paused, waiting for the roar of shots from the next shift. - And immediately the "barrel" is to blame? Yesterday was Sunday. Or maybe you yesterday? and he snapped his finger across his throat.

- Yes, I did not drink yesterday, old! - Sergei began to get angry, because he knew that the conversation would begin with this. Even beer!

The firing machine muffled his words, and he bent over the table.

- I didn't drink!

The line ended, and Sergei looked around frightened. The lieutenant, who was standing on the edge of the trench not far from them, grinned knowingly and turned away to the firing shift.

Sergei cursed.

- BUT! - the foreman nodded and yawned widely, lightly patting his lips with his palm. He earned himself the title of master of sports in shooting back in the days Soviet Union. Georgic served last years in the detachment, all his life he was engaged in shooting, participated in dozens of competitions and thoroughly knew all the nuances associated with weapons. He was the only person who no longer passed physical training tests. They were given to him automatically. The commander knew that the foreman would have time to shoot several good hand-to-hand combatants at close range before any of them realized what was happening. - It happens. So he just didn't get enough sleep.

Sergei understood that Georgich did not want to immediately jump up and go shoot his machine gun. In his lifetime, the foreman has seen hundreds of shooters, who are to blame either for a machine gun, or a pistol, or a rifle, but not themselves.

"Stepan Georgich," Sergei said firmly, looking into the foreman's eyes. - Listen to me carefully. I didn't drink yesterday and slept relatively well, and now I don't hit a chest target from hundreds of meters. It just can't be. You know how I shoot.

The foreman looked around and pulled a cigarette out of the pack. In principle, the senior lieutenant will not tell him anything, but it is better that he does not see anyone smoking at the place of distribution of ammunition.

He chewed on a cigarette and looked at Sergei. Yes, he knew how this guy shoots. Fast and accurate. Surely includes intuition, although he does not even suspect it. At one time, the foreman thought about transferring him to the sniper squad, but then abandoned this idea. Odintsov was good in a rapidly changing environment, when targets appear unexpectedly and from different directions, but he had problems with patience and endurance. Although no, not a problem. It's just the nature. Not everyone will be able to wait forty minutes for the target to appear, and then immediately shoot accurately.

- So, you smear ... - the foreman sighed. - I recently brought all the machine guns to battle. Maybe it's all about you? Come here, sit on a bench, sit, breathe, try to relax. And everything will work out.

- George!

“There are no cartridges,” the foreman gave the last argument and tapped the list with his finger. Everything is already booked for today.

“Understood,” George was not surprised. - Hid a pack?

- Well, yes, - Sergey said with annoyance. - I know that it’s impossible, but until you get up to shoot my machine gun ... you are always busy, you always have things to do.

- Sergeant Odintsov!

Sergei involuntarily straightened up. The foreman knew how to speak impressively.

- I have fifty such morons like you, and at each shooting I listen to a dozen such proposals. Either someone’s front sight is shot down, then the descent is tight or easy, then something else will come up. Bunch of useless dancers!

Sergei was offended and almost said that he was a good dancer and something did not bother him at all. Then he changed his mind. Maybe the sergeant is right. Go sit for five minutes, or what? There is still time. He straightened the machine gun strap on his shoulder and stepped away from the shed.

The foreman looked after him and spat a chewed cigarette. The guy recently returned from a business trip from abroad, showed himself well there, sniffed gunpowder and already knows how to shoot a person. By the way, it was after the business trip that Odintsov became much more responsible for shooting. Just good result no longer satisfied him. He did great. Apparently, the sergeant realized that his life depended on high-quality shooting. Eh, everyone should be “run in” like that ... the foreman sighed.

- Stop! he ordered. - Here, take it.

Georgich got up and pulled out a brand new chest target, which is usually used in pistol training, from a stack of sheets on which he was sitting.

“Tell the platoon leader about the assault rifle and go to the sniper line. Set it to 100 meters. I'll be right over, we'll check your "barrel". But look! he shook his finger. - If the machine gun is in order, then I will ask the commander for an outfit out of turn for you. And you will spend it in my garden!

- I understand, Georgich, - Sergey smiled, - I'd rather dig potatoes for you with a clear conscience than walk around with an unfinished machine gun.

After five shots fired by him personally, the foreman looked through the telescope at the target. Then he sighed, gave the gun to Sergei, got out of the trench and said:

“Go, mark the hits with a felt-tip pen. Indeed, for some reason it goes to the right. Now let's fix the fly. Leave a dozen more rounds, and return the rest. And don't do it again, otherwise you will thunder under the tribunal.

– Yes, I…

- Go, I said!

... Sergei caught himself and raised his eyes. The bald man watched him attentively, slowly rolling the lollipop over his cheek.

“Has Georgić really laid it down? thought Odintsov. So to say, for prevention? Formally, he is right, cartridges are not a toy, but why all of a sudden? We seem to be on good terms. Yes, and he is a normal man, he has never been seen in such a thing. Well, damn it! Now the reprimand is secured. Or they can slap incomplete service compliance. And the devil pulled me with these cartridges! But I wanted the best ... but it turned out as always!

What are you thinking about, soldier? the stranger asked again in English. He straightened up and folded his hands in his lap. Sergei understood that the conversation would be in English. But why? He didn't have time to think about it.

- Yes, there is something, - reluctantly, after a pause, Sergei answered. - Everyone has problems.

- I talked with your commander, with his deputies and even with the foreman. And then he invited you to talk.

“They might not have invited me,” Odintsov muttered, “everything is clear and so.

“For example, everything is not clear to me,” the man smiled. “I wanted to talk to you personally, to form my opinion.

“Me too, good policeman! He wanted to form an opinion ... it would be easier for me, perhaps, from your opinion, if the article is already in store for me?

Sergei sullenly examined the polished surface of the table.

I know you recently returned from a business trip.

The officer got up and went to the window.

- Tell me, what would you do in the place of the "green berets"?

- That is?

– You understood everything. Okay, I'll ask again. What actions would you take in their place to complete the task of destroying the object you are guarding?

Sergei remembered the commander's warnings.

They had to go to the power plant underwater. After all, we were not trained in such anti-sabotage actions and did not have the necessary equipment.

- What about crocodiles? Yes, even at night?

- Well I do not know. There must be some chemistry, like against sharks.

There is such chemistry...

The bald man went up to the table, took hold of the decanter and looked inquiringly.

“Clean,” muttered Odintsov. - They change every day.

The bald man nodded and poured water into a glass.

- Very sweet candies. It becomes disgusting in the mouth. But there is nowhere to go. At least somehow distracts from cigarettes. I eat half a kilo a day,” he complained.

Sergei was silent. The man continued the conversation, asking him about all sorts of nonsense. Does he tolerate heat well, was there a strong reaction of the body to vaccinations, and what is the success of the sergeant in shooting. Odintsov answered slowly, using the simplest sentences and phrases. He was waiting for a question about cartridges. However, conversation was difficult for him, and he had already wiped the perspiration from his forehead several times.

- Well, all right, - the unpleasant visitor suddenly switched to Russian and smiled. - I won't hurt you. Fifty more questions and I'll leave you alone.

Sergei exhaled through clenched teeth.

Viktor Pavlovich went to the computer on the table, turned it on and inserted the flash drive.

- Move closer. The time to answer a question is three seconds. Here is the mouse. Answer without hesitation.

Photographs flashed on the monitor screen with text signed at the bottom. The questions were as follows:

“Before you are photographs of three graves. Where do you think the suicide is buried? Or: “Here are photographs of three women. Which one do you think is divorced? “Before you are photographs of three cars. Which one is out of action?"

For a minute and a half, the sergeant sweated as if he had run a kilometer with excellent marks. He finished the test, got up from his chair, grabbed the decanter and began to drink straight from the bottle.

Viktor Pavlovich, humming an indistinct melody softly, clicked his mouse and displayed the result of the poll on the screen.

Peering, the special officer stopped humming. He chuckled and looked carefully at Sergei.

- Something is wrong? Sergey wiped his lips with his palm and carefully put the decanter back in its place.

- All right, Sergeant. Everything is fine. Well... you'll go to the combat department. There you will receive a direction to study.

– And what is the…

- Refresher courses, so to speak. For half a year. Yes, and one more thing, - Viktor Pavlovich shook his finger. - Don't hide the ammo anymore. They may misunderstand. And don't think badly of the foreman. He told me about the recent shootings. I wanted to show you what a responsible guy you are. I wanted the best, but it almost did not work out as always. All. Go. And call the commander.

Sergey took hold of the door handle.

How many sweets did I eat? - the special officer asked him in the back.

- Six! - Odintsov almost shouted and went out.

* * *

- You are all selected here from different branches of the military. Marines, landing, special forces, military intelligence. All of you have the simplest skills of a commando, that is, you run well, shoot accurately, and are trained in actions as part of a sabotage or reconnaissance group. Most of you have combat experience and are in good standing with the command. All of you have a question: why then we were gathered here? What else can we learn?

The officer paused and looked at the guys sitting at the tables, dressed in the same camouflage uniform. There was silence in the class. Someone coughed cautiously.

- I'll tell you right away - no one is going to teach you to run even faster or shoot even better. You are all within the rules. And no one has canceled them yet.

“Interesting movie,” someone in the back row said thoughtfully.

The man smiled knowingly.

“Now I will explain. To begin with, as they used to say in my time, I will tell you about the political situation.

Sergei exchanged glances with the guy sitting next to him at the same table. He shrugged.

The man paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

- I'll be brief. AT recent times our country is expanding its influence in the world, we are increasingly participating in political processes. I will say right away that the countries Central Africa or, for example, New Zealand does not interest us. They are far from our borders, and by and large we do not care what happens there. Don't misunderstand me, I'm stating the question in an extremely simplified way. But we are very interested in what is happening in neighboring states or in countries that are our long-standing allies, because this is a question national security Russia. And we need a tool with which we can influence such processes.

The teacher walked to the window and stopped there.

- You immediately thought about the army and navy. Correctly. combat readiness ground forces, naval forces and aviation is constantly growing and improving. But here the special forces lagged behind a little.

– May I ask you a question?

The man shook his head. The guy snorted in displeasure, hesitated, and sat down.

“You are just excellent soldiers, nothing more. And to solve the combat missions that you will perform, elite fighters are required.

- How shoud I understand this?

- Isn't the Airborne Forces an elite? Have we ever completed a combat mission?! Excuse me...uh...

“Vitaly Fedorovich,” the teacher said calmly.

- Vitaly Fedorovich! How shoud I understand this?!

Let me explain, guys.

The gray-haired man drummed his fingers on the windowsill, then stood up.

- The country's leadership has no complaints about the general composition of the landing troops. The same as for others. They are well trained.

The Vedaveshnik victoriously looked around and spread his arms with a satisfied look:

- What did I say...

“But we need aces. Those who, armed, for example, with one pistol, will successfully resist three to five submachine gunners. Those who can recognize an ambush before approaching it. Those who run will be able to move through an unfamiliar forest in complete darkness, shoot by ear and feel the mood and condition of the enemy. O hand-to-hand combat I no longer speak. We will radically change your idea of ​​it.

The man in camouflage looked at the paratrooper.

- Of course, we will not retrain all special forces units. Yes, this is not required. But we can prepare a couple of hundred elite fighters to perform tasks of increased complexity.

The teacher, with his hands behind his back, walked between the tables. Sergei turned around thoughtfully, following him with his eyes. The paratrooper scratched the top of his head.

What do you want to ask, fighter?

- It's kind of mystical. I can hardly do that.

- This is not mysticism, but quite accessible methods of training an elite fighter. They just didn't need it before. But times have changed.

What if not everyone can be like that? I'm somewhat doubtful.

“If they can’t do it, they will die.” Combat missions will not be easy.

In complete silence, Vitaly Fedorovich returned to the door and stood in front of the class.

“I was joking,” he said without a smile. - These will be expelled even earlier.

* * *

“We are trying, Comrade Colonel,” replied Odintsov. He knew that there were no jambs behind him, and therefore he calmly waited for the reason for the call to be explained to him.

In addition to the Leader, there were two other people sitting at the conference table. A thin, bilious-faced major in a field army uniform and a short-haired man dressed in a denim suit. Despite the man's civilian clothes, Sergei immediately recognized the commander in him. It was the commander, and not just the senior in rank. During his four years in the army, he had learned to recognize such things at once.

“The major is a staff officer, a “rear rat”, it is clear that he is not from the “special forces”, but a literate and intelligent person. He does not fuss, his gaze is attentive and tenacious, he understands his business, and our colonel, along with this fair-haired “Rambo”, understand this, therefore they treat him respectfully. The guy in the jeans is clearly from the special forces. Now he is relaxed, even lazy, but I can easily imagine what kind of wolf he turns into in battle. Strong-willed qualities are felt even now, ”Sergey thought, glancing at the people sitting.

Sergei sat down, noting to himself that there was nothing on the table, not a single piece of paper.

“A group is being formed to collect intelligence,” the officer, unfamiliar to Sergei, was short and concise in a military way. - You will be given combat mission. We have no time to wait until you and your comrades finish their training.

Sergei nodded, showing nothing of his emotions.

The blond-haired man looked at Sergei silently. Odintsov felt irritated.

It feels like I'm being scrutinized like a horse, he thought irritably. “Buy, don’t buy…”

“Which ones, Comrade Major?”

On the very first day of arrival at school, all cadets handed over their cell phones, tablets and all other modern gadgets to a short, dense foreman and received them back only for a few hours on weekends. It was rumored that this idea belongs entirely to the Leader. The cadets were unhappy. They did not understand why such restrictions. As for Sergei, he was a little worried about this. Several calls once a week were enough for him to feel calm for his parents. Father and mother were in perfect order, and the cheerful grandfather was preparing for the city chess championship and tried to walk more. Sergei did not yet have a constant companion, and therefore he did not worry about being separated from his girlfriend.

– Do you follow the situation in Syria?

- As far as possible.

- Briefly state your opinion.

Sergei did not hesitate for a long time:

– An armed fist of radical Islamists is being formed there to further escalate the conflict. Someone sponsors and arms militants. An attack from the territory of Afghanistan on Tajikistan and Uzbekistan is quite acceptable. If these republics collapse, then we will have to take the fight on our southern borders. The Caucasus will also blaze. In general, we must prepare for war.

“You understand,” the major drummed his fingers on the table. “So you understand that it’s better to crush this fist on the outskirts than to mess with it at our borders later?”

- Understand.

It's good that you're so motivated. Then listen. The group will be thrown into Syria. The task is to find and take alive the person who controls the financial flows of militants in the northern provinces. It is needed as a source of information. You want to ask, why not capture some leader of one of the gangs? I answer - we are not interested in field commanders, unless the task is to destroy them. Methods and ways of conducting guerrilla war we are well aware without them. But how, where and where the money goes to the militants is not yet known.

Sergei shook his head in shock. The blonde chuckled. The Major continued unperturbed:

- Senior group of special intelligence - Varyag. Here he is,” the major pointed with his chin at the man in jeans. - Time to prepare - a week. During this time, get acquainted with the legend of the cover, get equipment and study the area of ​​upcoming operations, and quite thoroughly. Geography, population, religion, mentality, customs. Questions?

- You are alone.

Sergei thoughtfully scratched the bridge of his nose. His trained psyche of a military man had already overcome the shock of the unexpected conversation, and he began to think about how best to complete the task.

It would be great if those fighters whom Sergey already knew went on a mission. For example, the group commander is Varyag, and the rest are guys from his cockpit. They lived together for six months and thoroughly studied each other. Or at least the guys from the course. After all, the leadership knows how important in combat conditions, even a small, but already well-knit team. In this case, the success of completing the task increases many times over. But, apparently, the command has its own plans. Too bad no one asks for his advice.

– The main selection criteria are the presence combat experience, - the major easily read his thoughts. - Do you have it.

“I understand, Comrade Major.

Sergei decided not to meddle with clarifying questions. He already knew from experience that they wouldn't tell him more anyway.

Current page: 1 (total book has 14 pages) [accessible reading excerpt: 4 pages]

Sergei Ivanovich Zverev
Special forces psychic

© Asfarov O., 2017

© Design. Eksmo Publishing LLC, 2017

* * *

Special forces psychic

Prologue

Sergei entered the office of the detachment commander and threw his palm to his temple:

- Comrade lieutenant colonel, sergeant Odintsov, according to you ...

“At ease,” the commander waved his hand. He got up.

“Here,” the lieutenant colonel coughed, “meet me.” Victor Pavlovich, so to speak ...

Sergei only now noticed a man sitting on a chair with his back to the window. He narrowed his eyes.

An absolutely bald guy in his forties, with a large head, a thick build, in a dark discreet suit without a tie, he looked somewhat unusual in the territory of the unit, where everyone wears military uniforms.

- Do you know English well? - the stranger asked Sergey in a low voice. Sergei looked at the lieutenant colonel.

The bald man chuckled, carefully examining the sergeant. Sergei shrugged.

- I understand.

- That's good! the lieutenant colonel said displeasedly. - I'll go around the territory and walk around, while you work here.

He left, closing the door behind him a little more abruptly than he should have.

“Your commander is a little nervous,” the man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. - This is clear. Nobody wants to give away a good fighter.

He spoke clearly and quietly, and Sergei involuntarily listened to his every word.

“Sit down, sergeant,” the strange visitor nodded, “do you want some candy?”

- No thanks.

- And I'll chew. Instead of cigarettes.

Sergei decided not to be surprised at anything. It is clear that this man is an important bird, since the commander went out and left them alone. Moreover, he advised me to answer the questions as honestly as possible. And who is he then? Special department? For what?

Sergei pushed his chair away from the long table and sat down, looking ahead of him. Where could he “fly in” so that the special officer became interested in him? Recent shootings? Sergei swore to himself. Here's a fool ... well, he hid a pack of cartridges. Yes, guilty. But he didn’t take it anywhere, didn’t sell it or donate it, but honestly shot it. His machine gun began to “leave” a little, and Sergey, being a good shooter, immediately felt it. At the shooting, I had to go to the foreman.

- Listen, Georgich, I started to smear something, I should have a look at the "barrel".

Georgich sat on a bench under a canopy at a table, putting his feet on a box of cartridges. On the table lay a record of accounting and consumption of ammunition, for reliability, pressed down by an empty machine gun magazine, a ballpoint pen and cigarettes.

- Started to smear, you say? The gunsmith chuckled. He paused, waiting for the roar of shots from the next shift. - And immediately the "barrel" is to blame? Yesterday was Sunday. Or maybe you yesterday? and he snapped his finger across his throat.

- Yes, I did not drink yesterday, old! - Sergei began to get angry, because he knew that the conversation would begin with this. Even beer!

The firing machine muffled his words, and he bent over the table.

- I didn't drink!

The line ended, and Sergei looked around frightened. The lieutenant, who was standing on the edge of the trench not far from them, grinned knowingly and turned away to the firing shift.

Sergei cursed.

- BUT! - the foreman nodded and yawned widely, lightly patting his lips with his palm. He earned himself the title of master of sports in shooting back in the days of the Soviet Union. Georgich served his last years in the detachment, all his life he was engaged in shooting, participated in dozens of competitions and thoroughly knew all the nuances associated with weapons. He was the only person who no longer passed physical training tests. They were given to him automatically. The commander knew that the foreman would have time to shoot several good hand-to-hand combatants at close range before any of them realized what was happening. - It happens. So he just didn't get enough sleep.

Sergei understood that Georgich did not want to immediately jump up and go shoot his machine gun. In his lifetime, the foreman has seen hundreds of shooters, who are to blame either for a machine gun, or a pistol, or a rifle, but not themselves.

"Stepan Georgich," Sergei said firmly, looking into the foreman's eyes. - Listen to me carefully. I didn't drink yesterday and slept relatively well, and now I don't hit a chest target from hundreds of meters. It just can't be. You know how I shoot.

The foreman looked around and pulled a cigarette out of the pack. In principle, the senior lieutenant will not tell him anything, but it is better that he does not see anyone smoking at the place of distribution of ammunition.

He chewed on a cigarette and looked at Sergei. Yes, he knew how this guy shoots. Fast and accurate. Surely includes intuition, although he does not even suspect it. At one time, the foreman thought about transferring him to the sniper squad, but then abandoned this idea. Odintsov was good in a rapidly changing environment, when targets appear unexpectedly and from different directions, but he had problems with patience and endurance. Although no, not a problem. It's just the nature. Not everyone will be able to wait forty minutes for the target to appear, and then immediately shoot accurately.

- So, you smear ... - the foreman sighed. - I recently brought all the machine guns to battle. Maybe it's all about you? Come here, sit on a bench, sit, breathe, try to relax. And everything will work out.

- George!

“There are no cartridges,” the foreman gave the last argument and tapped the list with his finger. Everything is already booked for today.

“Understood,” George was not surprised. - Hid a pack?

- Well, yes, - Sergey said with annoyance. - I know that it’s impossible, but until you get up to shoot my machine gun ... you are always busy, you always have things to do.

- Sergeant Odintsov!

Sergei involuntarily straightened up. The foreman knew how to speak impressively.

- I have fifty such morons like you, and at each shooting I listen to a dozen such proposals. Either someone’s front sight is shot down, then the descent is tight or easy, then something else will come up. Bunch of useless dancers!

Sergei was offended and almost said that he was a good dancer and something did not bother him at all. Then he changed his mind. Maybe the sergeant is right. Go sit for five minutes, or what? There is still time. He straightened the machine gun strap on his shoulder and stepped away from the shed.

The foreman looked after him and spat a chewed cigarette. The guy recently returned from a business trip from abroad, showed himself well there, sniffed gunpowder and already knows how to shoot a person. By the way, it was after the business trip that Odintsov became much more responsible for shooting. Just a good result did not suit him anymore. He did great. Apparently, the sergeant realized that his life depended on high-quality shooting. Eh, everyone should be “run in” like that ... the foreman sighed.

- Stop! he ordered. - Here, take it.

Georgich got up and pulled out a brand new chest target, which is usually used in pistol training, from a stack of sheets on which he was sitting.

“Tell the platoon leader about the assault rifle and go to the sniper line. Set it to 100 meters. I'll be right over, we'll check your "barrel". But look! he shook his finger. - If the machine gun is in order, then I will ask the commander for an outfit out of turn for you. And you will spend it in my garden!

- I understand, Georgich, - Sergey smiled, - I'd rather dig potatoes for you with a clear conscience than walk around with an unfinished machine gun.

After five shots fired by him personally, the foreman looked through the telescope at the target. Then he sighed, gave the gun to Sergei, got out of the trench and said:

“Go, mark the hits with a felt-tip pen. Indeed, for some reason it goes to the right. Now let's fix the fly. Leave a dozen more rounds, and return the rest. And don't do it again, otherwise you will thunder under the tribunal.

– Yes, I…

- Go, I said!

... Sergei caught himself and raised his eyes. The bald man watched him attentively, slowly rolling the lollipop over his cheek.

“Has Georgić really laid it down? thought Odintsov. So to say, for prevention? Formally, he is right, cartridges are not a toy, but why all of a sudden? We seem to be on good terms. Yes, and he is a normal man, he has never been seen in such a thing. Well, damn it! Now the reprimand is secured. Or they can slap incomplete service compliance. And the devil pulled me with these cartridges! But I wanted the best ... but it turned out as always!

What are you thinking about, soldier? the stranger asked again in English. He straightened up and folded his hands in his lap. Sergei understood that the conversation would be in English. But why? He didn't have time to think about it.

- Yes, there is something, - reluctantly, after a pause, Sergei answered. - Everyone has problems.

- I talked with your commander, with his deputies and even with the foreman. And then he invited you to talk.

“They might not have invited me,” Odintsov muttered, “everything is clear and so.

“For example, everything is not clear to me,” the man smiled. “I wanted to talk to you personally, to form my opinion.

“Me too, good policeman! He wanted to form an opinion ... it would be easier for me, perhaps, from your opinion, if the article is already in store for me?

Sergei sullenly examined the polished surface of the table.

I know you recently returned from a business trip.

The officer got up and went to the window.

- Tell me, what would you do in the place of the "green berets"?

- That is?

– You understood everything. Okay, I'll ask again. What actions would you take in their place to complete the task of destroying the object you are guarding?

Sergei remembered the commander's warnings.

They had to go to the power plant underwater. After all, we were not trained in such anti-sabotage actions and did not have the necessary equipment.

- What about crocodiles? Yes, even at night?

- Well I do not know. There must be some chemistry, like against sharks.

There is such chemistry...

The bald man went up to the table, took hold of the decanter and looked inquiringly.

“Clean,” muttered Odintsov. - They change every day.

The bald man nodded and poured water into a glass.

- Very sweet candies. It becomes disgusting in the mouth. But there is nowhere to go. At least somehow distracts from cigarettes. I eat half a kilo a day,” he complained.

Sergei was silent. The man continued the conversation, asking him about all sorts of nonsense. Does he tolerate heat well, was there a strong reaction of the body to vaccinations, and what is the success of the sergeant in shooting. Odintsov answered slowly, using the simplest sentences and phrases. He was waiting for a question about cartridges. However, conversation was difficult for him, and he had already wiped the perspiration from his forehead several times.

- Well, all right, - the unpleasant visitor suddenly switched to Russian and smiled. - I won't hurt you. Fifty more questions and I'll leave you alone.

Sergei exhaled through clenched teeth.

Viktor Pavlovich went to the computer on the table, turned it on and inserted the flash drive.

- Move closer. The time to answer a question is three seconds. Here is the mouse. Answer without hesitation.

Photographs flashed on the monitor screen with text signed at the bottom. The questions were as follows:

“Before you are photographs of three graves. Where do you think the suicide is buried? Or: “Here are photographs of three women. Which one do you think is divorced? “Before you are photographs of three cars. Which one is out of action?"

For a minute and a half, the sergeant sweated as if he had run a kilometer with excellent marks. He finished the test, got up from his chair, grabbed the decanter and began to drink straight from the bottle.

Viktor Pavlovich, humming an indistinct melody softly, clicked his mouse and displayed the result of the poll on the screen.

Peering, the special officer stopped humming. He chuckled and looked carefully at Sergei.

- Something is wrong? Sergey wiped his lips with his palm and carefully put the decanter back in its place.

- All right, Sergeant. Everything is fine. Well... you'll go to the combat department. There you will receive a direction to study.

– And what is the…

- Refresher courses, so to speak. For half a year. Yes, and one more thing, - Viktor Pavlovich shook his finger. - Don't hide the ammo anymore. They may misunderstand. And don't think badly of the foreman. He told me about the recent shootings. I wanted to show you what a responsible guy you are. I wanted the best, but it almost did not work out as always. All. Go. And call the commander.

Sergey took hold of the door handle.

How many sweets did I eat? - the special officer asked him in the back.

- Six! - Odintsov almost shouted and went out.

* * *

A tall, thin man with carefully combed sparse gray hair, in camouflage, without insignia, leisurely paced around the spacious classroom in which the cadets were sitting, and leisurely said:

- You are all selected here from different branches of the military. Marines, landing, special forces, military intelligence. All of you have the simplest skills of a commando, that is, you run well, shoot accurately, and are trained in actions as part of a sabotage or reconnaissance group. Most of you have combat experience and are in good standing with the command. All of you have a question: why then we were gathered here? What else can we learn?

The officer paused and looked at the guys sitting at the tables, dressed in the same camouflage uniform. There was silence in the class. Someone coughed cautiously.

- I'll tell you right away - no one is going to teach you to run even faster or shoot even better. You are all within the rules. And no one has canceled them yet.

“Interesting movie,” someone in the back row said thoughtfully.

The man smiled knowingly.

“Now I will explain. To begin with, as they used to say in my time, I will tell you about the political situation.

Sergei exchanged glances with the guy sitting next to him at the same table. He shrugged.

The man paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

- I'll be brief. Recently, our country has been expanding its influence in the world, we are increasingly participating in political processes. I will say right away that the countries of Central Africa or, for example, New Zealand do not interest us. They are far from our borders, and by and large we do not care what happens there. Don't misunderstand me, I'm stating the question in an extremely simplified way. But we are very interested in what is happening in neighboring states or in countries that are our long-standing allies, because this is a matter of Russia's national security. And we need a tool with which we can influence such processes.

The teacher walked to the window and stopped there.

- You immediately thought about the army and navy. Correctly. The combat readiness of the ground forces, naval forces and aviation is constantly growing and improving. But here the special forces lagged behind a little.

There was a slight noise in the classroom. The cadets began to exchange glances. The teacher was in no hurry. He sat down on the windowsill and folded his arms over his chest, calmly waiting out the indignation caused by his words.

– May I ask you a question?

Sergei looked back. A tall cadet behind him rose from the table. Under the camouflage he had a vest.

The man shook his head. The guy snorted in displeasure, hesitated, and sat down.

“You are just excellent soldiers, nothing more. And to solve the combat missions that you will perform, elite fighters are required.

- How shoud I understand this?

The cadet, sitting behind Sergei, still could not stand it.

- Isn't the Airborne Forces an elite? Have we ever completed a combat mission?! Excuse me...uh...

“Vitaly Fedorovich,” the teacher said calmly.

- Vitaly Fedorovich! How shoud I understand this?!

Let me explain, guys.

The gray-haired man drummed his fingers on the windowsill, then stood up.

- The country's leadership has no complaints about the general composition of the landing troops. The same as for others. They are well trained.

The Vedaveshnik victoriously looked around and spread his arms with a satisfied look:

- What did I say...

“But we need aces. Those who, armed, for example, with one pistol, will successfully resist three to five submachine gunners. Those who can recognize an ambush before approaching it. Those who run will be able to move through an unfamiliar forest in complete darkness, shoot by ear and feel the mood and condition of the enemy. I'm not talking about hand-to-hand combat. We will radically change your idea of ​​it.

The man in camouflage looked at the paratrooper.

- Of course, we will not retrain all special forces units. Yes, this is not required. But we can prepare a couple of hundred elite fighters to perform tasks of increased complexity.

The cadets fell silent, pondering over what had been said. There were no newcomers in the class, and everyone roughly imagined what level of combat training was behind the words of Vitaly Fedorovich.

The teacher, with his hands behind his back, walked between the tables. Sergei turned around thoughtfully, following him with his eyes. The paratrooper scratched the top of his head.

What do you want to ask, fighter?

Vitaly Fedorovich asked a question without turning to the cadet. He froze with a hand hanging over the back of his head. Then, reflexively, he got up and straightened his jacket. He looked somewhat confused.

- It's kind of mystical. I can hardly do that.

- This is not mysticism, but quite accessible methods of training an elite fighter. They just didn't need it before. But times have changed.

What if not everyone can be like that? I'm somewhat doubtful.

“If they can’t do it, they will die.” Combat missions will not be easy.

In complete silence, Vitaly Fedorovich returned to the door and stood in front of the class.

“I was joking,” he said without a smile. - These will be expelled even earlier.

* * *

After six months of training, just before the exams, Sergei was called to the head of the courses.

"How's your training going, sergeant?" - Asked him the head of the course, nicknamed the Counselor, who was sitting at the table.

“We are trying, Comrade Colonel,” replied Odintsov. He knew that there were no jambs behind him, and therefore he calmly waited for the reason for the call to be explained to him.

In addition to the Leader, there were two other people sitting at the conference table. A thin, bilious-faced major in a field army uniform and a short-haired man dressed in a denim suit. Despite the man's civilian clothes, Sergei immediately recognized the commander in him. It was the commander, and not just the senior in rank. During his four years in the army, he had learned to recognize such things at once.

“The major is a staff officer, a “rear rat”, it is clear that he is not from the “special forces”, but a literate and intelligent person. He does not fuss, his gaze is attentive and tenacious, he understands his business, and our colonel, along with this fair-haired “Rambo”, understand this, therefore they treat him respectfully. The guy in the jeans is clearly from the special forces. Now he is relaxed, even lazy, but I can easily imagine what kind of wolf he turns into in battle. Strong-willed qualities are felt even now, ”Sergey thought, glancing at the people sitting.

“Sit down, sergeant,” the major said dryly. "Now I'll bring you up to speed."

Sergei sat down, noting to himself that there was nothing on the table, not a single piece of paper.

“A group is being formed to collect intelligence,” the officer, unfamiliar to Sergei, was short and concise in a military way. - You will be assigned a combat mission. We have no time to wait until you and your comrades finish their training.

Sergei nodded, showing nothing of his emotions.

The blond-haired man looked at Sergei silently. Odintsov felt irritated.

It feels like I'm being scrutinized like a horse, he thought irritably. “Buy, don’t buy…”

“I know that you are forbidden to watch TV for more than half an hour a day,” the major liked the restraint of the cadet, and he began to speak a little more affably. - Are you aware latest news?

“Which ones, Comrade Major?”

On the very first day of arrival at school, all cadets handed over their cell phones, tablets and all other modern gadgets to a short, dense foreman and received them back only for a few hours on weekends. It was rumored that this idea belongs entirely to the Leader. The cadets were unhappy. They did not understand why such restrictions. As for Sergei, he was a little worried about this. Several calls once a week were enough for him to feel calm for his parents. Father and mother were in perfect order, and the cheerful grandfather was preparing for the city chess championship and tried to walk more. Sergei did not yet have a constant companion, and therefore he did not worry about being separated from his girlfriend.

– Do you follow the situation in Syria?

- As far as possible.

- Briefly state your opinion.

Sergei did not hesitate for a long time:

– An armed fist of radical Islamists is being formed there to further escalate the conflict. Someone sponsors and arms militants. An attack from the territory of Afghanistan on Tajikistan and Uzbekistan is quite acceptable. If these republics collapse, then we will have to take the fight on our southern borders. The Caucasus will also blaze. In general, we must prepare for war.

“You understand,” the major drummed his fingers on the table. “So you understand that it’s better to crush this fist on the outskirts than to mess with it at our borders later?”

- Understand.

It's good that you're so motivated. Then listen. The group will be thrown into Syria. The task is to find and take alive the person who controls the financial flows of militants in the northern provinces. It is needed as a source of information. You want to ask, why not capture some leader of one of the gangs? I answer - we are not interested in field commanders, unless the task is to destroy them. Methods and methods of conducting guerrilla warfare are well known to us even without them. But how, where and where the money goes to the militants is not yet known.

Sergei shook his head in shock. The blonde chuckled. The Major continued unperturbed:

- Senior group of special intelligence - Varyag. Here he is,” the major pointed with his chin at the man in jeans. - Time to prepare - a week. During this time, get acquainted with the legend of the cover, get equipment and study the area of ​​upcoming operations, and quite thoroughly. Geography, population, religion, mentality, customs. Questions?

- Can I find out who else is in the Varyag group from our course?

- You are alone.

Sergei thoughtfully scratched the bridge of his nose. His trained psyche of a military man had already overcome the shock of the unexpected conversation, and he began to think about how best to complete the task.

It would be great if those fighters whom Sergey already knew went on a mission. For example, the group commander is Varyag, and the rest are guys from his cockpit. They lived together for six months and thoroughly studied each other. Or at least the guys from the course. After all, the leadership knows how important in combat conditions, even a small, but already well-knit team. In this case, the success of completing the task increases many times over. But, apparently, the command has its own plans. Too bad no one asks for his advice.

“The main selection criteria are the presence of combat experience,” the major easily read his thoughts. - Do you have it.

“I understand, Comrade Major.

Sergei decided not to meddle with clarifying questions. He already knew from experience that they wouldn't tell him more anyway.

- Go. Gather your things. The car will be at headquarters in an hour.

Sergei looked at his watch and got up. When the door closed behind him, the Varangian stirred and lazily asked:

“Are you sure that this is the kind of guy I need?” What's wrong with my guys? My group has been run in for a long time, people are used to each other, and all together they are a single, perfectly tuned mechanism. We understand each other perfectly. If we were musicians, we could improvise all day long. Why do I need this, albeit not bad, but an additional appendage?

- It's not a pendant. This is a fighter with special training. The Major looked at his interlocutor with displeasure. “But I understand you. As a group leader, you have the right to know who you are going on a mission with.

The Varangian drew himself up, changed his posture, and already looked at the major with interest. Counterintelligence will not engage in nonsense.

– This is the first edition of the course since 1987. For him, we tried to pick up special guys. True, I had to tinker.

The Major shook his head and chuckled. The Varangian understood from his expression that he really had to tinker.

- First, briefly: for what and why was such a thing revived? educational institution. The fact is that over the past few years we have suffered unjustified losses in special forces groups. Previously, they did not pay attention to this - in war as in war. But the General Staff thought differently and collected statistics. Of course, the one that managed to collect. After analyzing the numbers, the command considered it unacceptable to lose first-class fighters just because, for example, a group in full force could enter a minefield. Or get caught in an avalanche. Coincidence, you say? Not really.

The Varangian listened attentively.

- Not to mention the disruption of the combat mission, select people died, for the preparation of which serious resources were spent. I was instructed to look into this matter and give recommendations on how to minimize losses. I'm not ashamed to say that the work was done colossal. I had to open archives and look for people from intelligence and special forces who had long since retired. So, it turned out that Soviet time there were courses that prepared, so to speak, military psychics.

– Whom, whom?! - Varyag leaned forward.

– Unfortunate term, I agree. But they haven't come up with another yet.

The Varangian straightened up and looked back at the elderly man sitting at the end of the table.

“Yes, yes,” said the major. “You, captain, were very surprised when you realized that the colonel was already over sixty. We tore a man away from the spring garden and invited him to remember his past skills. What to do while there are no other specialists. But we digress. So, the presence of a military psychic in the battle group can dramatically reduce the percentage of stupid accidents that I have already mentioned. In any case, management is counting on it very much.

"So you're saying this guy is...?"

- Exactly. His mother was skilled in hypnosis and could film headache. On a dare, she held the metal spoon in the palm of her hand completely vertically, without squeezing her fingers. No one taught her this, she worked as an accountant all her life. Having no medical education, this woman, having run her palms over her body, could accurately determine the diseased organ.

The sergeant's father is a driver. For thirty years of driving experience - not a single scratch on the car. Does that mean anything to you, captain?

“Er…well, basically…yes, it’s impressive.

- His comrades at the car depot remembered several cases when Odintsov Sr. deliberately delayed the flight, motivating the delay with all sorts of nonsense. A simple time estimate showed that if he had left on time, he would have ended up in areas where there were terrible accidents involving several cars.

Later, he drove the head of the motor depot. Once he refused to give the chief a lift directly to the entrance of the house, put the Volga not far away and suggested that he go home on foot. The chief boiled over, got behind the wheel himself and parked the car where it usually stood. Three minutes later, a garbage truck crashed into a parked Volga. His brakes failed. Naturally, Odintsov Sr. was not in the car.

The Major lightly slapped his palm on the table, as if summing up what had been said.

“The sergeant clearly has hidden psychic abilities. That is, they were hidden. I really hope that these courses helped him to strengthen, develop and apply them in a combat situation. However, just like the others. About sixty people were selected for the courses. Forty-five of them were weeded out and returned to their former place of service. The rest will be used in combat missions of increased complexity. Including in your group, captain.

The Varyag merely spread his hands silently.

© Asfarov O., 2017

© Design. Eksmo Publishing LLC, 2017

* * *

Special forces psychic

Prologue

Sergei entered the office of the detachment commander and threw his palm to his temple:

- Comrade lieutenant colonel, sergeant Odintsov, according to you ...

“At ease,” the commander waved his hand. He got up.

“Here,” the lieutenant colonel coughed, “meet me.” Victor Pavlovich, so to speak ...

Sergei only now noticed a man sitting on a chair with his back to the window. He narrowed his eyes.

An absolutely bald guy in his forties, with a large head, a thick build, in a dark discreet suit without a tie, he looked somewhat unusual in the territory of the unit, where everyone wears military uniforms.

- Do you know English well? - the stranger asked Sergey in a low voice. Sergei looked at the lieutenant colonel.

The bald man chuckled, carefully examining the sergeant. Sergei shrugged.

- I understand.

- That's good! the lieutenant colonel said displeasedly. - I'll go around the territory and walk around, while you work here.

He left, closing the door behind him a little more abruptly than he should have.

“Your commander is a little nervous,” the man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. - This is clear. Nobody wants to give away a good fighter.

He spoke clearly and quietly, and Sergei involuntarily listened to his every word.

“Sit down, sergeant,” the strange visitor nodded, “do you want some candy?”

- No thanks.

- And I'll chew. Instead of cigarettes.

Sergei decided not to be surprised at anything. It is clear that this man is an important bird, since the commander went out and left them alone. Moreover, he advised me to answer the questions as honestly as possible. And who is he then? Special department? For what?

Sergei pushed his chair away from the long table and sat down, looking ahead of him. Where could he “fly in” so that the special officer became interested in him? Recent shootings? Sergei swore to himself. Here's a fool ... well, he hid a pack of cartridges. Yes, guilty. But he didn’t take it anywhere, didn’t sell it or donate it, but honestly shot it. His machine gun began to “leave” a little, and Sergey, being a good shooter, immediately felt it. At the shooting, I had to go to the foreman.

- Listen, Georgich, I started to smear something, I should have a look at the "barrel".

Georgich sat on a bench under a canopy at a table, putting his feet on a box of cartridges. On the table lay a record of accounting and consumption of ammunition, for reliability, pressed down by an empty machine gun magazine, a ballpoint pen and cigarettes.

- Started to smear, you say? The gunsmith chuckled. He paused, waiting for the roar of shots from the next shift. - And immediately the "barrel" is to blame? Yesterday was Sunday. Or maybe you yesterday? and he snapped his finger across his throat.

- Yes, I did not drink yesterday, old! - Sergei began to get angry, because he knew that the conversation would begin with this. Even beer!

The firing machine muffled his words, and he bent over the table.

- I didn't drink!

The line ended, and Sergei looked around frightened. The lieutenant, who was standing on the edge of the trench not far from them, grinned knowingly and turned away to the firing shift.

Sergei cursed.

- BUT! - the foreman nodded and yawned widely, lightly patting his lips with his palm. He earned himself the title of master of sports in shooting back in the days of the Soviet Union. Georgich served his last years in the detachment, all his life he was engaged in shooting, participated in dozens of competitions and thoroughly knew all the nuances associated with weapons. He was the only person who no longer passed physical training tests. They were given to him automatically. The commander knew that the foreman would have time to shoot several good hand-to-hand combatants at close range before any of them realized what was happening. - It happens. So he just didn't get enough sleep.

Sergei understood that Georgich did not want to immediately jump up and go shoot his machine gun. In his lifetime, the foreman has seen hundreds of shooters, who are to blame either for a machine gun, or a pistol, or a rifle, but not themselves.

"Stepan Georgich," Sergei said firmly, looking into the foreman's eyes. - Listen to me carefully. I didn't drink yesterday and slept relatively well, and now I don't hit a chest target from hundreds of meters. It just can't be. You know how I shoot.

The foreman looked around and pulled a cigarette out of the pack. In principle, the senior lieutenant will not tell him anything, but it is better that he does not see anyone smoking at the place of distribution of ammunition.

He chewed on a cigarette and looked at Sergei. Yes, he knew how this guy shoots. Fast and accurate. Surely includes intuition, although he does not even suspect it. At one time, the foreman thought about transferring him to the sniper squad, but then abandoned this idea. Odintsov was good in a rapidly changing environment, when targets appear unexpectedly and from different directions, but he had problems with patience and endurance. Although no, not a problem. It's just the nature. Not everyone will be able to wait forty minutes for the target to appear, and then immediately shoot accurately.

- So, you smear ... - the foreman sighed. - I recently brought all the machine guns to battle. Maybe it's all about you? Come here, sit on a bench, sit, breathe, try to relax. And everything will work out.

- George!

“There are no cartridges,” the foreman gave the last argument and tapped the list with his finger. Everything is already booked for today.

“Understood,” George was not surprised. - Hid a pack?

- Well, yes, - Sergey said with annoyance. - I know that it’s impossible, but until you get up to shoot my machine gun ... you are always busy, you always have things to do.

- Sergeant Odintsov!

Sergei involuntarily straightened up. The foreman knew how to speak impressively.

- I have fifty such morons like you, and at each shooting I listen to a dozen such proposals. Either someone’s front sight is shot down, then the descent is tight or easy, then something else will come up. Bunch of useless dancers!

Sergei was offended and almost said that he was a good dancer and something did not bother him at all. Then he changed his mind. Maybe the sergeant is right. Go sit for five minutes, or what? There is still time. He straightened the machine gun strap on his shoulder and stepped away from the shed.

The foreman looked after him and spat a chewed cigarette. The guy recently returned from a business trip from abroad, showed himself well there, sniffed gunpowder and already knows how to shoot a person. By the way, it was after the business trip that Odintsov became much more responsible for shooting. Just a good result did not suit him anymore. He did great. Apparently, the sergeant realized that his life depended on high-quality shooting. Eh, everyone should be “run in” like that ... the foreman sighed.

- Stop! he ordered. - Here, take it.

Georgich got up and pulled out a brand new chest target, which is usually used in pistol training, from a stack of sheets on which he was sitting.

“Tell the platoon leader about the assault rifle and go to the sniper line. Set it to 100 meters. I'll be right over, we'll check your "barrel". But look! he shook his finger. - If the machine gun is in order, then I will ask the commander for an outfit out of turn for you. And you will spend it in my garden!

- I understand, Georgich, - Sergey smiled, - I'd rather dig potatoes for you with a clear conscience than walk around with an unfinished machine gun.

After five shots fired by him personally, the foreman looked through the telescope at the target. Then he sighed, gave the gun to Sergei, got out of the trench and said:

“Go, mark the hits with a felt-tip pen. Indeed, for some reason it goes to the right. Now let's fix the fly. Leave a dozen more rounds, and return the rest. And don't do it again, otherwise you will thunder under the tribunal.

– Yes, I…

- Go, I said!

... Sergei caught himself and raised his eyes. The bald man watched him attentively, slowly rolling the lollipop over his cheek.

“Has Georgić really laid it down? thought Odintsov. So to say, for prevention? Formally, he is right, cartridges are not a toy, but why all of a sudden? We seem to be on good terms. Yes, and he is a normal man, he has never been seen in such a thing. Well, damn it! Now the reprimand is secured. Or they can slap incomplete service compliance. And the devil pulled me with these cartridges! But I wanted the best ... but it turned out as always!

What are you thinking about, soldier? the stranger asked again in English. He straightened up and folded his hands in his lap. Sergei understood that the conversation would be in English. But why? He didn't have time to think about it.

- Yes, there is something, - reluctantly, after a pause, Sergei answered. - Everyone has problems.

- I talked with your commander, with his deputies and even with the foreman. And then he invited you to talk.

“They might not have invited me,” Odintsov muttered, “everything is clear and so.

“For example, everything is not clear to me,” the man smiled. “I wanted to talk to you personally, to form my opinion.

“Me too, good policeman! He wanted to form an opinion ... it would be easier for me, perhaps, from your opinion, if the article is already in store for me?

Sergei sullenly examined the polished surface of the table.

I know you recently returned from a business trip.

The officer got up and went to the window.

- Tell me, what would you do in the place of the "green berets"?

- That is?

– You understood everything. Okay, I'll ask again. What actions would you take in their place to complete the task of destroying the object you are guarding?

Sergei remembered the commander's warnings.

They had to go to the power plant underwater. After all, we were not trained in such anti-sabotage actions and did not have the necessary equipment.

- What about crocodiles? Yes, even at night?

- Well I do not know. There must be some chemistry, like against sharks.

There is such chemistry...

The bald man went up to the table, took hold of the decanter and looked inquiringly.

“Clean,” muttered Odintsov. - They change every day.

The bald man nodded and poured water into a glass.

- Very sweet candies. It becomes disgusting in the mouth. But there is nowhere to go. At least somehow distracts from cigarettes. I eat half a kilo a day,” he complained.

Sergei was silent. The man continued the conversation, asking him about all sorts of nonsense. Does he tolerate heat well, was there a strong reaction of the body to vaccinations, and what is the success of the sergeant in shooting. Odintsov answered slowly, using the simplest sentences and phrases. He was waiting for a question about cartridges. However, conversation was difficult for him, and he had already wiped the perspiration from his forehead several times.

- Well, all right, - the unpleasant visitor suddenly switched to Russian and smiled. - I won't hurt you. Fifty more questions and I'll leave you alone.

Sergei exhaled through clenched teeth.

Viktor Pavlovich went to the computer on the table, turned it on and inserted the flash drive.

- Move closer. The time to answer a question is three seconds. Here is the mouse. Answer without hesitation.

Photographs flashed on the monitor screen with text signed at the bottom. The questions were as follows:

“Before you are photographs of three graves. Where do you think the suicide is buried? Or: “Here are photographs of three women. Which one do you think is divorced? “Before you are photographs of three cars. Which one is out of action?"

For a minute and a half, the sergeant sweated as if he had run a kilometer with excellent marks. He finished the test, got up from his chair, grabbed the decanter and began to drink straight from the bottle.

Viktor Pavlovich, humming an indistinct melody softly, clicked his mouse and displayed the result of the poll on the screen.

Peering, the special officer stopped humming. He chuckled and looked carefully at Sergei.

- Something is wrong? Sergey wiped his lips with his palm and carefully put the decanter back in its place.

- All right, Sergeant. Everything is fine. Well... you'll go to the combat department. There you will receive a direction to study.

– And what is the…

- Refresher courses, so to speak. For half a year. Yes, and one more thing, - Viktor Pavlovich shook his finger. - Don't hide the ammo anymore. They may misunderstand. And don't think badly of the foreman. He told me about the recent shootings. I wanted to show you what a responsible guy you are. I wanted the best, but it almost did not work out as always. All. Go. And call the commander.

Sergey took hold of the door handle.

How many sweets did I eat? - the special officer asked him in the back.

- Six! - Odintsov almost shouted and went out.

* * *

A tall, thin man with carefully combed sparse gray hair, in camouflage, without insignia, leisurely paced around the spacious classroom in which the cadets were sitting, and leisurely said:

- You are all selected here from different branches of the military. Marines, landing, special forces, military intelligence. All of you have the simplest skills of a commando, that is, you run well, shoot accurately, and are trained in actions as part of a sabotage or reconnaissance group. Most of you have combat experience and are in good standing with the command. All of you have a question: why then we were gathered here? What else can we learn?

The officer paused and looked at the guys sitting at the tables, dressed in the same camouflage uniform. There was silence in the class. Someone coughed cautiously.

- I'll tell you right away - no one is going to teach you to run even faster or shoot even better. You are all within the rules. And no one has canceled them yet.

“Interesting movie,” someone in the back row said thoughtfully.

The man smiled knowingly.

“Now I will explain. To begin with, as they used to say in my time, I will tell you about the political situation.

Sergei exchanged glances with the guy sitting next to him at the same table. He shrugged.

The man paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

- I'll be brief. Recently, our country has been expanding its influence in the world, we are increasingly participating in political processes. I will say right away that the countries of Central Africa or, for example, New Zealand do not interest us. They are far from our borders, and by and large we do not care what happens there. Don't misunderstand me, I'm stating the question in an extremely simplified way. But we are very interested in what is happening in neighboring states or in countries that are our long-standing allies, because this is a matter of Russia's national security. And we need a tool with which we can influence such processes.

The teacher walked to the window and stopped there.

- You immediately thought about the army and navy. Correctly. The combat readiness of the ground forces, naval forces and aviation is constantly growing and improving. But here the special forces lagged behind a little.

There was a slight noise in the classroom. The cadets began to exchange glances. The teacher was in no hurry. He sat down on the windowsill and folded his arms over his chest, calmly waiting out the indignation caused by his words.

– May I ask you a question?

Sergei looked back. A tall cadet behind him rose from the table. Under the camouflage he had a vest.

The man shook his head. The guy snorted in displeasure, hesitated, and sat down.

“You are just excellent soldiers, nothing more. And to solve the combat missions that you will perform, elite fighters are required.

- How shoud I understand this?

The cadet, sitting behind Sergei, still could not stand it.

- Isn't the Airborne Forces an elite? Have we ever completed a combat mission?! Excuse me...uh...

“Vitaly Fedorovich,” the teacher said calmly.

- Vitaly Fedorovich! How shoud I understand this?!

Let me explain, guys.

The gray-haired man drummed his fingers on the windowsill, then stood up.

- The country's leadership has no complaints about the general composition of the landing troops. The same as for others. They are well trained.

The Vedaveshnik victoriously looked around and spread his arms with a satisfied look:

- What did I say...

“But we need aces. Those who, armed, for example, with one pistol, will successfully resist three to five submachine gunners. Those who can recognize an ambush before approaching it. Those who run will be able to move through an unfamiliar forest in complete darkness, shoot by ear and feel the mood and condition of the enemy. I'm not talking about hand-to-hand combat. We will radically change your idea of ​​it.

The man in camouflage looked at the paratrooper.

- Of course, we will not retrain all special forces units. Yes, this is not required. But we can prepare a couple of hundred elite fighters to perform tasks of increased complexity.

The cadets fell silent, pondering over what had been said. There were no newcomers in the class, and everyone roughly imagined what level of combat training was behind the words of Vitaly Fedorovich.

The teacher, with his hands behind his back, walked between the tables. Sergei turned around thoughtfully, following him with his eyes. The paratrooper scratched the top of his head.

What do you want to ask, fighter?

Vitaly Fedorovich asked a question without turning to the cadet. He froze with a hand hanging over the back of his head. Then, reflexively, he got up and straightened his jacket. He looked somewhat confused.

- It's kind of mystical. I can hardly do that.

- This is not mysticism, but quite accessible methods of training an elite fighter. They just didn't need it before. But times have changed.

What if not everyone can be like that? I'm somewhat doubtful.

“If they can’t do it, they will die.” Combat missions will not be easy.

In complete silence, Vitaly Fedorovich returned to the door and stood in front of the class.

“I was joking,” he said without a smile. - These will be expelled even earlier.

* * *

After six months of training, just before the exams, Sergei was called to the head of the courses.

"How's your training going, sergeant?" - Asked him the head of the course, nicknamed the Counselor, who was sitting at the table.

“We are trying, Comrade Colonel,” replied Odintsov. He knew that there were no jambs behind him, and therefore he calmly waited for the reason for the call to be explained to him.

In addition to the Leader, there were two other people sitting at the conference table. A thin, bilious-faced major in a field army uniform and a short-haired man dressed in a denim suit. Despite the man's civilian clothes, Sergei immediately recognized the commander in him. It was the commander, and not just the senior in rank. During his four years in the army, he had learned to recognize such things at once.

“The major is a staff officer, a “rear rat”, it is clear that he is not from the “special forces”, but a literate and intelligent person. He does not fuss, his gaze is attentive and tenacious, he understands his business, and our colonel, along with this fair-haired “Rambo”, understand this, therefore they treat him respectfully. The guy in the jeans is clearly from the special forces. Now he is relaxed, even lazy, but I can easily imagine what kind of wolf he turns into in battle. Strong-willed qualities are felt even now, ”Sergey thought, glancing at the people sitting.

“Sit down, sergeant,” the major said dryly. "Now I'll bring you up to speed."

Sergei sat down, noting to himself that there was nothing on the table, not a single piece of paper.

“A group is being formed to collect intelligence,” the officer, unfamiliar to Sergei, was short and concise in a military way. - You will be assigned a combat mission. We have no time to wait until you and your comrades finish their training.

Sergei nodded, showing nothing of his emotions.

The blond-haired man looked at Sergei silently. Odintsov felt irritated.

It feels like I'm being scrutinized like a horse, he thought irritably. “Buy, don’t buy…”

“I know that you are forbidden to watch TV for more than half an hour a day,” the major liked the restraint of the cadet, and he began to speak a little more affably. - Are you up to date with the latest news?

“Which ones, Comrade Major?”

On the very first day of arrival at school, all cadets handed over their cell phones, tablets and all other modern gadgets to a short, dense foreman and received them back only for a few hours on weekends. It was rumored that this idea belongs entirely to the Leader. The cadets were unhappy. They did not understand why such restrictions. As for Sergei, he was a little worried about this. Several calls once a week were enough for him to feel calm for his parents. Father and mother were in perfect order, and the cheerful grandfather was preparing for the city chess championship and tried to walk more. Sergei did not yet have a constant companion, and therefore he did not worry about being separated from his girlfriend.

– Do you follow the situation in Syria?

- As far as possible.

- Briefly state your opinion.

Sergei did not hesitate for a long time:

– An armed fist of radical Islamists is being formed there to further escalate the conflict. Someone sponsors and arms militants. An attack from the territory of Afghanistan on Tajikistan and Uzbekistan is quite acceptable. If these republics collapse, then we will have to take the fight on our southern borders. The Caucasus will also blaze. In general, we must prepare for war.

“You understand,” the major drummed his fingers on the table. “So you understand that it’s better to crush this fist on the outskirts than to mess with it at our borders later?”

- Understand.

It's good that you're so motivated. Then listen. The group will be thrown into Syria. The task is to find and take alive the person who controls the financial flows of militants in the northern provinces. It is needed as a source of information. You want to ask, why not capture some leader of one of the gangs? I answer - we are not interested in field commanders, unless the task is to destroy them. Methods and methods of conducting guerrilla warfare are well known to us even without them. But how, where and where the money goes to the militants is not yet known.

Sergei shook his head in shock. The blonde chuckled. The Major continued unperturbed:

- Senior group of special intelligence - Varyag. Here he is,” the major pointed with his chin at the man in jeans. - Time to prepare - a week. During this time, get acquainted with the legend of the cover, get equipment and study the area of ​​upcoming operations, and quite thoroughly. Geography, population, religion, mentality, customs. Questions?

- Can I find out who else is in the Varyag group from our course?

- You are alone.

Sergei thoughtfully scratched the bridge of his nose. His trained psyche of a military man had already overcome the shock of the unexpected conversation, and he began to think about how best to complete the task.

It would be great if those fighters whom Sergey already knew went on a mission. For example, the group commander is Varyag, and the rest are guys from his cockpit. They lived together for six months and thoroughly studied each other. Or at least the guys from the course. After all, the leadership knows how important in combat conditions, even a small, but already well-knit team. In this case, the success of completing the task increases many times over. But, apparently, the command has its own plans. Too bad no one asks for his advice.

“The main selection criteria are the presence of combat experience,” the major easily read his thoughts. - Do you have it.

“I understand, Comrade Major.

Sergei decided not to meddle with clarifying questions. He already knew from experience that they wouldn't tell him more anyway.

- Go. Gather your things. The car will be at headquarters in an hour.

Sergei looked at his watch and got up. When the door closed behind him, the Varangian stirred and lazily asked:

“Are you sure that this is the kind of guy I need?” What's wrong with my guys? My group has been run in for a long time, people are used to each other, and all together they are a single, perfectly tuned mechanism. We understand each other perfectly. If we were musicians, we could improvise all day long. Why do I need this, albeit not bad, but an additional appendage?

- It's not a pendant. This is a fighter with special training. The Major looked at his interlocutor with displeasure. “But I understand you. As a group leader, you have the right to know who you are going on a mission with.

The Varangian drew himself up, changed his posture, and already looked at the major with interest. Counterintelligence will not engage in nonsense.

– This is the first edition of the course since 1987. For him, we tried to pick up special guys. True, I had to tinker.

The Major shook his head and chuckled. The Varangian understood from his expression that he really had to tinker.

- First, briefly: why and why such an educational institution was revived. The fact is that over the past few years we have suffered unjustified losses in special forces groups. Previously, they did not pay attention to this - in war as in war. But the General Staff thought differently and collected statistics. Of course, the one that managed to collect. After analyzing the numbers, the command considered it unacceptable to lose first-class fighters just because, for example, a group in full force could enter a minefield. Or get caught in an avalanche. Coincidence, you say? Not really.

The Varangian listened attentively.

- Not to mention the disruption of the combat mission, select people died, for the preparation of which serious resources were spent. I was instructed to look into this matter and give recommendations on how to minimize losses. I'm not ashamed to say that the work was done colossal. I had to open archives and look for people from intelligence and special forces who had long since retired. So, it turned out that in Soviet times there were courses that prepared, so to speak, military psychics.

– Whom, whom?! - Varyag leaned forward.

– Unfortunate term, I agree. But they haven't come up with another yet.

The Varangian straightened up and looked back at the elderly man sitting at the end of the table.

“Yes, yes,” said the major. “You, captain, were very surprised when you realized that the colonel was already over sixty. We tore a man away from the spring garden and invited him to remember his past skills. What to do while there are no other specialists. But we digress. So, the presence of a military psychic in the battle group can dramatically reduce the percentage of stupid accidents that I have already mentioned. In any case, management is counting on it very much.

"So you're saying this guy is...?"

- Exactly. His mother was skilled in hypnosis and was able to relieve headaches. On a dare, she held the metal spoon in the palm of her hand completely vertically, without squeezing her fingers. No one taught her this, she worked as an accountant all her life. Having no medical education, this woman, having run her palms over her body, could accurately determine the diseased organ.

The sergeant's father is a driver. For thirty years of driving experience - not a single scratch on the car. Does that mean anything to you, captain?

“Er…well, basically…yes, it’s impressive.

- His comrades at the car depot remembered several cases when Odintsov Sr. deliberately delayed the flight, motivating the delay with all sorts of nonsense. A simple time estimate showed that if he had left on time, he would have ended up in areas where there were terrible accidents involving several cars.

Later, he drove the head of the motor depot. Once he refused to give the chief a lift directly to the entrance of the house, put the Volga not far away and suggested that he go home on foot. The chief boiled over, got behind the wheel himself and parked the car where it usually stood. Three minutes later, a garbage truck crashed into a parked Volga. His brakes failed. Naturally, Odintsov Sr. was not in the car.

The Major lightly slapped his palm on the table, as if summing up what had been said.

“The sergeant clearly has hidden psychic abilities. That is, they were hidden. I really hope that these courses helped him to strengthen, develop and apply them in a combat situation. However, just like the others. About sixty people were selected for the courses. Forty-five of them were weeded out and returned to their former place of service. The rest will be used in combat missions of increased complexity. Including in your group, captain.

The Varyag merely spread his hands silently.

Sergei Ivanovich Zverev

Special forces psychic

© Asfarov O., 2017

© Design. Eksmo Publishing LLC, 2017

Special forces psychic

Sergei entered the office of the detachment commander and threw his palm to his temple:

- Comrade lieutenant colonel, sergeant Odintsov, according to you ...

“At ease,” the commander waved his hand. He got up.

“Here,” the lieutenant colonel coughed, “meet me.” Victor Pavlovich, so to speak ...

Sergei only now noticed a man sitting on a chair with his back to the window. He narrowed his eyes.

An absolutely bald guy in his forties, with a large head, a thick build, in a dark discreet suit without a tie, he looked somewhat unusual in the territory of the unit, where everyone wears military uniforms.

- Do you know English well? - the stranger asked Sergey in a low voice. Sergei looked at the lieutenant colonel.

The bald man chuckled, carefully examining the sergeant. Sergei shrugged.

- I understand.

- That's good! the lieutenant colonel said displeasedly. - I'll go around the territory and walk around, while you work here.

He left, closing the door behind him a little more abruptly than he should have.

“Your commander is a little nervous,” the man leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. - This is clear. Nobody wants to give away a good fighter.

He spoke clearly and quietly, and Sergei involuntarily listened to his every word.

“Sit down, sergeant,” the strange visitor nodded, “do you want some candy?”

- No thanks.

- And I'll chew. Instead of cigarettes.

Sergei decided not to be surprised at anything. It is clear that this man is an important bird, since the commander went out and left them alone. Moreover, he advised me to answer the questions as honestly as possible. And who is he then? Special department? For what?

Sergei pushed his chair away from the long table and sat down, looking ahead of him. Where could he “fly in” so that the special officer became interested in him? Recent shootings? Sergei swore to himself. Here's a fool ... well, he hid a pack of cartridges. Yes, guilty. But he didn’t take it anywhere, didn’t sell it or donate it, but honestly shot it. His machine gun began to “leave” a little, and Sergey, being a good shooter, immediately felt it. At the shooting, I had to go to the foreman.

- Listen, Georgich, I started to smear something, I should have a look at the "barrel".

Georgich sat on a bench under a canopy at a table, putting his feet on a box of cartridges. On the table lay a record of accounting and consumption of ammunition, for reliability, pressed down by an empty machine gun magazine, a ballpoint pen and cigarettes.

- Started to smear, you say? The gunsmith chuckled. He paused, waiting for the roar of shots from the next shift. - And immediately the "barrel" is to blame? Yesterday was Sunday. Or maybe you yesterday? and he snapped his finger across his throat.

- Yes, I did not drink yesterday, old! - Sergei began to get angry, because he knew that the conversation would begin with this. Even beer!

The firing machine muffled his words, and he bent over the table.

- I didn't drink!

The line ended, and Sergei looked around frightened. The lieutenant, who was standing on the edge of the trench not far from them, grinned knowingly and turned away to the firing shift.

Sergei cursed.

- BUT! - the foreman nodded and yawned widely, lightly patting his lips with his palm. He earned himself the title of master of sports in shooting back in the days of the Soviet Union. Georgich served his last years in the detachment, all his life he was engaged in shooting, participated in dozens of competitions and thoroughly knew all the nuances associated with weapons. He was the only person who no longer passed physical training tests. They were given to him automatically. The commander knew that the foreman would have time to shoot several good hand-to-hand combatants at close range before any of them realized what was happening. - It happens. So he just didn't get enough sleep.

Sergei understood that Georgich did not want to immediately jump up and go shoot his machine gun. In his lifetime, the foreman has seen hundreds of shooters, who are to blame either for a machine gun, or a pistol, or a rifle, but not themselves.

"Stepan Georgich," Sergei said firmly, looking into the foreman's eyes. - Listen to me carefully. I didn't drink yesterday and slept relatively well, and now I don't hit a chest target from hundreds of meters. It just can't be. You know how I shoot.

The foreman looked around and pulled a cigarette out of the pack. In principle, the senior lieutenant will not tell him anything, but it is better that he does not see anyone smoking at the place of distribution of ammunition.

He chewed on a cigarette and looked at Sergei. Yes, he knew how this guy shoots. Fast and accurate. Surely includes intuition, although he does not even suspect it. At one time, the foreman thought about transferring him to the sniper squad, but then abandoned this idea. Odintsov was good in a rapidly changing environment, when targets appear unexpectedly and from different directions, but he had problems with patience and endurance. Although no, not a problem. It's just the nature. Not everyone will be able to wait forty minutes for the target to appear, and then immediately shoot accurately.